A relic from my distant past – my first typewriter…actually it’s the only typewriter I ever owned.
There I’d be, banging away on my vintage keyboard of my vintage typewriter, as fast as the keys would allow without jamming together; covered in goosebumps while I immersed myself deeper and deeper into some wild adventure.
As so often happens, life, other things, whatever, got in the way and the writing of tall stories fell by the wayside. My poor darling vintage typewriter was tucked away, safe and secure in its case, on a dusty shelf in dad’s garage. Until a few months ago.
I’m lucky. I never lost my childhood friend. Nope. No dumpster ending for my little friend. It was fortuitous that my parents took guardianship of it, and so it sat for more years than I care to remember, on that dusty shelf. and is still in almost, shiny new, working condition!
I will always be grateful for my parents (thanks Mum and Dad) for returning my mechanical friend to its rightful home (I can almost hear the collective sighs of relief at that extra bench space in the garage now) – a 2,000km trip.
My parents used to say I could take it home with me each time I flew to see them (possibly a hidden agenda involving bench space) but felt my little friend was too heavy to take. As it sits on the right side of my desk, I see how it could have stowed away in my carry on luggage.
In the throw-away society we live in these days it’s nice to know that someone somewhere, whether they be parents, grandparents, friends, colleagues, or an unknown hoarder, is caretaking a vintage artefact such as mine. In time the vintage or retro, earns the title of antique (if it misses the classic title), and will find its way to an enthusiastic new caretaker.
I ♥ my typewriter.